The Amber Blade
by The Original Navar
Summary: Alexander Walworth, Demigod Son of Demeter takes up arms in the Civil War, against both the South and the Romans. But after a duel at Camp, he finds himself far removed from the old wars, in another time entirely. Armed with his wits, his sword, and a few allies and enemies, he will take on the Sleeping God for the second time in his life, now stretched over 150 years.


Chapter One

 **A Long Ride to Long Island Part 1**

War… is brutal.

It brings out all humanity has to offer; from our brightest stars, to our darkest souls. The violence and carnage are caused by all who enter the battlefield; be they a simple farmer fighting for those back home, or a warrior wishing for victory and not caring for the enemy. But there are those that bring compassion and even cheer to the fray; healers who keep you alive or make the passing easier, or the other soldier in your ranks who can sing to the high heavens and raise your spirits.

Gods, I wish that all battles lasted not but five minutes, ending when numbers were shown as if it were a game of war played with cards: highest card wins. It would make war so much simpler, but alas, that is not to be the case so long as humanity sends all we have at war. Our salesmen, our ranchers, our farmers, our reporters, our inventors, our engineers, our artists, our- well, you get the idea. All these people die in war, whether or not they survive physically.

The desolation and hate on the battlefield, the raw need to survive- it changes people. Some leave less changed than others, some hide it well. But the horrors of war never leave a person, they only fester beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed by the slightest inkling of battle.

I... may have gotten a slight bit ahead of myself. My name is Alexander Walworth, Private straight out of the Army of Virginia. Of the four corps within that army I was in the first, not exactly an honor, seeing as it meant that I had a front row seat in almost every battle, of which I was in three major battles during my nearly yearlong time deployed on the front-lines.

It was harrowing to say the least.

I now rode a train north, but I left our most recent engagement less than a day ago, after I received an urgent Iris message from my cabin mate and sister: Linda Rouge. We were both children of Demeter, placing us in the same cabin. I had known her for years, ever since I first went to camp when I was younger, now 8 years ago. Now those years feels like a lifetime, rather than only half of a lifetime.

Back to Linda's message. She told me how things were back at camp: not good. Linda also told me how the rest of the cabins were doing: Not good. She closed on how the roman Demigods were doing: not good, but better than we were doing. Gods, the camp needed help badly.

I had heard of this Demigod war some time back, maybe a week or two ago, before my last battle at Gettysburg. The Romans had attacked our camp, sailed right up the coast and landed to the east, keeping most of the battles to the hills and forests east of the valley. But the fighting was intense, very much unlike the warfare I had been through for the past year. Much more personal, with all the swords and spears instead of bullets and cannon balls.

It was only a few hours after the iris message that I received a pair of letters. The first, and more important to me, was from my sister, Mary. I hadn't heard from her in, oh, say 2 years. That was when she left the farmhouse, and subsequently our aunt and uncle, to join the Hunters of Artemis.

So now I will eternally have an immortal 10 year old sister. There are worse things, I suppose, but I do miss my little sister dearly. I mean I would have normally missed her, being away at war and whatnot, but I missed her more knowing she was in danger now. She wasn't a demigod, she was as mortal as they come, but she had loved my stories of camp and of my first quest. She loved the tales enough that after my quest, Apollo guided his sister, Artemis, (and subsequently the hunters) to meet and recruit her for their immortal, love free, hunting fun. I still wish he hadn't done that. Mary was 10, for Hade's sake!

But enough of that.

Her letter was an update on how her life was going. She regaled me with a short and simple tale of her first hunt, the Cretan Bull of all things. They had cornered the creature somewhere in the Rocky Mountains where it had been terrorizing the natives living there, as well as taking out travelers on their way to California. Mary then went on to say how great the other Hunters were, throwing names like Zoe and Emmie out there. I had met Zoe, she is the one who convinced Mary to join in the first place, but Emmie I did not know. Nonetheless, I was glad that she was having a good time, and was not taking part in the Demigod war.

She closed up her letter wishing me good luck and that she had hopes of seeing me soon. I still held the letter in my hands, re-reading it occasionally to keep my mind from wandering too far during the train ride back to New York. Speaking of which, the second letter.

This one was quite the surprise, and it took some convincing to get my brothers-in-arms off my back long enough to read the Gods damn paper, mainly because it had come straight from, honest to Zeus, Abraham Lincoln: President of the United States.

I had opened it cautiously, not really knowing why the Son of Athena would be sending me a letter. Well, that's a lie, I had some inkling of an idea as to why he might have sent me a letter. This idea was further cemented when inside the envelope, along with a short note, were a pair of train tickets. The first bound for New York City, the second for Long Island. The note was short, and apparently mass produced as there was some ink left from the stamp that pressed it.

"We need you, hero. Return to camp at once, regardless of circumstance."

Under that was a quick signature, belonging to the current President. I stared at this note a good long time, considering my options. I could either just run away and be marked as a deserter, or alternatively I could try to resign or something equally as terrible. Thankfully I was saved the issue of making a choice.

My commander had stepped up to the scene then, pulling me from the group. He had orders "straight from the top" to send me to the nearest train station for a trip north. He was confused, but followed the orders directly. Hell, even I was confused. But I didn't try to wiggle through this one, so I let my military drilled in response of "YES SIR" be my reply before packing my items for the trip.

Now here I sit, in full uniform one day later, riding a rather decent train north. I rode in coach, actually rather alone besides one gentleman, seeing as most trips north were simply to get fresh soldiers for the front lines, where their purpose would be fulfilled.

Trips like this were reserved for officers returning north for one reason or another, reporters who needed to develop their film, or people so heavily injured by the fighting that they could no longer serve their purpose. Thankfully, for my continued mental health, I was not seated with the gravely injured. Instead I sat just across from a reporter, who had bugged me earlier in the ride with questions for his newspaper back in Boston.

I answered the questions just to shut him up.

But now we sat in silence, me sitting here looking out the window and gripping my sister's letter, and the reporter scratching furiously at a piece of paper, probably giving me a bad review in his next article. But I didn't care, I was just glad to have received an actual break from the constant training and battles. Thanks Lincoln.

The train made its way through rolling countryside, a familiar sight that I had been staring at for the past year now, but also a welcome sight thanks to where I grew up. That being a farm closer to upstate Rochester, a city also in New York but closer to the lakes. Back to this track though. It wasn't long before the scenery changed slowly from green to brown then to a much more grey color. Even the sky was a little gray, either Zeus was in a bad mood or Hephaestus was working on a project again, clogging the skies with smoke.

I had been through New York many times, usually coming to and from the Camp. Once I actually went to New York City for the city itself and I must say, it was rather lacking. Just sort of dirty where I went, and sad in others. But hey, it was better that the burning fields of Maryland and Virginia.

The train's whistle blew, shocking me out of my trance. I must have yelped in surprise because the reporter gave me an odd look before standing up and moving away from the seat we had shared. I felt the train begin to slow as we approached the Hudson River, so that and the whistle must have meant we were closing in on the station. I sighed shakily and looked back down at my sister's letter, panicking somewhat as I now saw how I had crumpled the paper not a moment before. I sat a few minutes more trying to rub out the newfound creases where my hands had clenched, like I was holding my rifle.

I did the best I could to mend the letter then folded it into its envelope and tucked it back into my rucksack. I stood as the train ground to a halt, making me stumble slightly into the isle. Thankfully the reporter fellow was long gone, off the train and into the city somewhere. I steadied myself and patted down my blue uniform before I shouldered my pack and moved to exit the train.

The station wasn't altogether that busy, most trains that were southbound simply carried munitions, men and other supplies as opposed to commuters or other passengers, so that left the main platform pretty much clear of dense crowds. I pulled my hat onto my head after clearing the doorway, straightening the brim on my forage cap.

My hat might have been standard issue, but I had a personal penchant for hats. If you were to hold mine side by side to one of my fellow soldier's headwear, mine held both its hue and its shape. Not to say it was mint or anything, just that I kept it clean and stored properly.

Enough about my hat, I had another train to catch. I quickened my pace across the main floor of the station, walking past several fresh faced soldiers, trying to think of where I had to go. This track was on the eastern side of the city, so I had two ferries to take, and most of Manhattan to cross. If memory served me, the first ferry would be the Jersey City Ferry, followed by the Fulton Ferry across the East River. That's the route I had taken, in reverse, when I had first enlisted.

Leaving the station and setting foot on the road outside was a near literal breath of fresh air, the military air inside the brick and steel building filled me with an anxiety I only recognized from the several near death experiences I had on the battlefield.

Nothing I wish to relive for now, thanks very much.

Instead I took in the view in front of me. Past a street where several wagons rode by, was the skyline of New York, silhouetted by the rising sun. The shadows of the building drifted over the water like tendrils of some giant monster. Thankfully the buildings weren't so tall as to set the feeling of tendrils crossing the river to get me, the tallest building appeared to be under construction, but besides that there was a roughly 5 stories tall, plastered building with a sign on top that said TIMES in big red letters. Similar billboards littered the buildings, some featuring lights that were still brightly lit, even with the rising sun.

In the distance I heard a ferry's horn, I turned my attention to the river and made my way across the street to a short brick fence. Down below were the docks, nestled on the bank of the Hudson below the platform, where water sloshed against the stone that held up the docks along the River.

I snapped my fingers, pointing to one of the ships returning to its dock. That was my Ferry.

The ferry was called the _Hudson_. SO creative.

The ferry was painted white and had a small engine in the back turning a wheel as we forced our way across the river. The ship only had floor space and a little cabin of sorts for the sailor on board. The tickets weren't too expensive, just a couple cents, but the space on the boat was lacking. It was crowded to the point where I almost had to hold my pack over my head. I say almost because I was shaking the entire time, sweating profusely, with my heart racing.

There were just too many people!

Eventually it just became too overwhelming. I forced my way through the crowd, causing a young woman to give me a dirty look and for a man in a suit to give me an "I say". I managed to make it into the shack that housed the wheel and other controls, closing the door behind me. The sailor, or captain, turned quickly, apparently startled by my entrance. His pipe nearly fell out of his mouth when he spun about to face me, he looked me up and down before addressing me.

"You aren't supposed to be here," He studied my uniform for a moment. "Private?"

I nodded, my breathing steadying as I leaned against the door and my rucksack. He must have seen my panicked face, because he didn't seem altogether displeased or upset at me. The wrinkles around his eyes suggested he wasn't someone who got angry a lot, so I had that going for me.

"Well look, I can't have you in here boy. This's for hired men only." He rested one hand on his wheel, not minding the waters ahead of us.

"Sorry sir, it's just…" I took a few more breaths, trying to steady myself. This wasn't going well, best to try and duck out while I could.

"Right sir, sorry to trouble you." I managed to finish.

He nodded in apparent acceptance, turning slightly to the wheel once more, but keeping me in the corner of his eye as he puffed his pipe. "Lotsa boys with fear in their eyes these days, nestled deep. Take care, boy, rough waters ahead."

I tipped my hat down as I stepped back out on deck.

I knew I was being watched after this, so I kept my face down. Some of the other passengers exchanged glances, apparently I may have irked a few of them in my panic, which was still happening by the way. My officer was always telling me to steel the nerves and bite the bullet. Get through with it without making a mess of myself.

Easy for him to say, he was as solid as a brick. He also happened to be a fellow camper. Son of Ares and all that. His name always escaped me though, something long and French. But he wouldn't even flinch as bullets pounded into him, which happened actually rather frequently. A little frustratingly, he mixed his chewing tobacco with Ambrosia and chewed it during battle. I'm not sure if it actually worked though. If it didn't, it was an excellent placebo.

I on the other hand wound my way into trenches and behind trees. I would take pot shots occasionally but once the initial line was broken, I was out of there into a better position where I would hopefully not die.

It worked enough to get me here.

I was overjoyed when the bell jingled above the boat, announcing our arrival to the island of Manhattan. I want to say I was the first off the boat, but I knew I wasn't. I kept my head down and my face buried in the brim of my hat as I disembarked. I caught a glimpse of the captain from before, watching me from his little room, as I got off that damn ferry.

" _Rough waters ahead."_

I rushed quickly off the dock and into the street. They were busy, but not as crowded as the boat, where there was hardly room to move. I had much more room to breathe. The streets were just as dirty as I remembered them being, maybe just a little cleaner since a majority of the population was away dying.

A sobering and depressing thought.

I half jogged, half marched down the streets. I returned more curt nods and polite hellos than I had during any other time in my life. Must have been the uniform, it tends to stand out.

The streets were simple and straight, and if there were fewer people I bet I could have seen the docks on the other side. Sadly there were way too many people to actually accomplish that. And, to my ever piling anxiety, there was something else in the streets.

Standing in the middle of an intersection up ahead, the carriages and wagons swerving their way around it, was a rather large creature with one eye. A Cyclopes if I had ever seen one. The mist must have been covering it pretty thickly, because the dumb monster had no shirt on, and its pants were about five sizes too small yet the mortals gave it no mind. It held a large wooden sign above its head reading:

RECRUITMENT, AT LIBERTY & NAUSSAU. MONSTERS GREAT AND SMALL.

It slowly was rotating in the intersection, as if it were a newsboy holding the latest headline. It certainly stood out if that was its goal, which I surmised it was. I thanked the Gods silently that the Cyclopes was so obvious, or I might have missed it.

I casually moved my hands to my pockets, wrapping my hand around my clump of amber. I couldn't face him directly, not with all the mortals around. I followed the small crowd for a few more steps before ducking onto a side street just as the Cyclopes rotated in my direction.

I could almost swear its beady eye stared through the masonry I had my back to. Thankfully New York was a difficult place to be tracked through, due to all the mortal scents around. I sent another prayer to the Gods before turning to make my way down this street.

Not five feet in I saw another monster, at the next intersection. It was another Cyclopes, this one much smaller, wearing a stained white shirt and torn pants. It stood on the curb, just across the next street south, a small jar at its feet. There were fewer mortals here, but those that passed the monster flipped a coin or two in its tin jar.

This Cyclopes also held a sign, albeit lazily. Said sign was held in its left hand, raised almost to its head level, which was about 7 feet up. I walked slightly slower, looking for an alley or another side street.

To my pleasure I spotted a fenced off alley on my left, about halfway between me and the monster. My pace quickened, trying to reach it before the monster saw or smelled me.

My luck is actually rather lacking, I think you'll find.

Just as I reached the fence and began the process of climbing said fence, the Cyclopes saw me. I froze in place, mid climb, and we held a miniature staring contest. It was broken when a savage grin lit up his face and his sign fell to the ground.

I hurriedly clambered the rest of the way up and over the fence, not looking to see if he was following me. I consider that the general consensus on the matter of if a monster is following you is that if they know where you are, they are coming. So that only strengthened my efforts.

I dropped into the alley, which was thankfully empty and ended at the next street, also fenced off. I began a sprint down the alley before a shadow appeared over the far end. Looming in the morning light was the other Cyclopes from the other intersection, coming in at about double the size of his brother at about fifteen feet and covered in muscle. Maybe fat as well.

My demigod instincts kicking in, I pulled out my piece of amber and focused. The amber shifted in my hand until I held a 3 foot blade before me.

This was a gift, it was called Sfendámi, or Maple. I always preferred calling it Sfendámi, mainly because calling your sword the same exact name as your girlfriend was rather insulting. To which, I wasn't sure, but I wasn't taking any chances. Maple was the one who gave it to me, after we began dating.

More on that later, more pressing matters to attend to. Namely the fact that at both ends of the alley were Cyclopes. I hesitantly looked behind me and, much to my frustration, the other Cyclopes had also climbed over the fence.

I guess he decided to try and be a bit theatrical about this whole situation, because he gave a grandiose wave in my direction before he piped up.

"Lookie what we have here, a demigod on our turf."

He had a thick accent, thankfully one I could understand enough to translate into something understandable.

"Ey Winston! Keep an eye on that end, I thinks it's time for a bit of breakfast!"

Winston, apparently the big one at the far end of the alley, grunted, smiling dumbly. He turned around and raised his sign, apparently more dedicated to the recruitment effort than his brother.

The smaller one had my undivided attention at this point, so I happily turned Sfendámi to face him. The Cyclopes glanced at my sword a moment before pulling a pipe off the wall of the alley. A small trickle of water came out where he broke it, and quickly started to form a puddle at its feet.

"Soes it's a fight you be wantin, it's a fight you'll be gettin!" He patted the pipe with his other hand, admiring the rusted iron. "Grubba and Winston having a good breakfast of oats and meat today." The Cyclopes, Grubba I guess, muttered to himself.

Nearly every monster that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting had made a joke about that, so apparently I smell rather a lot like cattle food. Sadly, this usually caused more harm than good.

He began his advance, slow and deliberate. It would have been terrifying, what with his distant stare and murderous smile, but I wasn't feeling very patient today. I stepped back, gathered my wits and charged.

He wasn't expecting that, seeing as the last look on his face was contorted in surprise and fear. He had raised the pipe in defense, but my magical blade cut through his pipe like butter. The rest of the swipe went right through his disgusting shirt before he popped into a pile of dust and tumbled down into the puddle of water he hadcreated just moments before.

Grubba gone.

I nearly caught the two ends of the pipe before they hit the stone floor of the alley with a loud clang. I flinched, then froze. I didn't move for a moment, but I could feel the single eye on my back.

I swallowed hard, turning slowly to the other end of the alley. Winston had turned as well, sign now lowered. He stared, mouth agape, at the dust gathering in the puddle at my feet. His eye flicked between me and the puddle before fixating on me.

I began to back away from his end of the alley while he tried to work out the scene before him. His face was hard to read, the stupidity was like a veil really, but I'm pretty sure he understood that I had just turned his Grubba into a puddle of sawdust.

I had almost made it to the fence when he roared unintelligibly and charged down the narrow corridor, obliterating the fence at his end. I scrambled up the fence behind me, tucking Sfendámi into the pack on my back once I landed.

I was running before I even realized it, my arms pumping like my life depended on it. I mean it did, but saying it like that almost made me forget the towering monster barreling its way down an alley after me.

It burst through the fence, knocking a few unsuspecting mortals down who swore profusely. Hearing this I ran even faster down the street. To say I got some odd looks from the average New Yorker would be an understatement.

I didn't bother looking over my shoulder at the Cyclopes, I could hear it and the carnage it caused behind me quite clearly as carts swerved off the road. I heard one driver shout something about a large carriage going crazy, but I tried to keep to my own reality, not the mortal's mist skewed one.

You may be thinking, "Alexander, why don't you just turn around and stab the monster with Sfendámi?" Honestly I was thinking that myself as I ran, albeit in the back of my mind. In reality I wasn't really thinking clearly today and running seemed rather reasonable compared to fighting a two story tall Cyclopes.

There was also the fact that when you draw Sfendámi you sort of have a time limit. It was made to draw on the nature around it to keep it in its blade form, and without plant life around, the blade slowly shrinks back into its lump. Sadly, New York didn't too much nature.

It was with this in mind that I ran faster.

When I reached the east river my heart was racing and my legs were almost jelly, mainly from fear rather than exertion. Sadly there was no time to rest, Winston was still on my tail.

I vaulted over the low cement wall separating the street from the docks. I didn't know if it was near the ferry or not, I just needed a way off the island. I took two of my precious seconds to check my surroundings.

It was a stretch of docks labeled BRITISH SHIPPING CO. and there were two large ships docked unloading cargo. An older woman sat selling fruits and vegetables to the sailors there. Further down the island I saw a line of people boarding a small flat boat.

The Fulton Ferry!

Sadly I may have used more than the 2 seconds I thought I had, and in only moments Wilson was on top of me.

 **AN:** __So, this has been an interesting few months in my life, in terms of my writing. The writing, as I put it, was this decently sized part one to the return of my first (of two) fanfics. Not so much a return, as one might notice, as much as a complete overhaul of the ideas that I had pursued over five years ago. The other older one is there to show what progress I have made since 2012, but **THIS** is where the tale of Alexander Cutler Walworth shall be told (He was Ethan, renamed because of bad naming)! Not just him though, we will also have the mandatory _TWO_ supporting characters that will accompany him later on, on the also inevitable quest! Come on, these are almost a standard for a Percy Jackson fanfic.

Before anything else though, I will confirm one thing: This story will primarily take place between the events of The Lost Hero and The Son of Neptune, so yeah, we'll get there when we get there. Don't want to suddenly take away the hopes that some people (probably between two and three of the 12 that will read this) might have about this being focused in history. Which it will to some part, mostly in comprehensive flashbacks and long monologues from characters within.

I'm excited to really get into this though! The next chapter has been started for a while, so should be out by December 11th, but don't quote me.

If y'all have any questions or critiques of my writing please leave it in the reviews, I'll get to, and respond to, them at the bottom of the subsequent chapters.

Thanks for reading!


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